Little London Girl
by Braang
Summary: Marissa and Lindsay visit London and meet a detective and a doctor. Von Pearce and some JohnLock if you squint really hard and tilt your head.


"Marissa, hurry up!" I urged, pulling on her wrist.

Marissa stumbled forward, my yank surprising her. "We don't need to see all of London in one day…" She pulled her wrist away from me, and she rubbed it tenderly. "Honestly, Lindsay…"

"Why don't we stop for lunch?" I suggested, grabbing her hand this time, and with a much looser grip.

Marissa sighed. "Yes, _please_. I'm starving. This jet lag has finally caught up with me… I'm tired and hungry. Why don't we go there?" She pointed to a small sandwich shop across the street.

I shrugged. "Well, it sounds good to me. I'm always up for sandwiches." I blushed as my stomach let out a loud growl.

Marissa giggled and huddled closer to me. "I'm cold," she murmured into my neck.

"I know, I know…" I put my arm around her shoulders in a sad attempt to warm her up. To be honest, I just loved every type of contact with her. She _was_ my girlfriend after all, and I loved her.

Suddenly, she pulled away from me. "I need to go throw my coffee cup away," she said with a smile. "Be right back."

It all happened at once, really. One second, Rissa was walking over to the trash can, and the next, she was on the ground, clutching her leg.

I sprinted over to her, resisting the urge to strangle the man on the bicycle that hit her. "Marissa," I half-whined, half-whimpered as I collapsed next to her.

The biker paced in front of us, a worried look on his face. Suddenly, he ran toward the building we were next to. "I'll go get help!" he called as he dashed into the building, which I realized was an apartment complex.

I scooted closer to Marissa hesitantly, afraid I'd put her in even more pain on accident. "Are you okay? Do you think you can walk on it? Is it broken?"

"I don't know," she whispered, her face contorted with pain. "I don't know."

"I'm back," the cyclist sputtered, appearing at my side again. "And I brought help…"

Out of the apartment building came two men. "Please step aside," the shorter of the two said to the cyclist. "I'm a doctor."

The other man, his head full of this, dark brown curls, leaned up against the trash can. His expression could only be described as "bored".

Marissa tightened her grip on my hand, refusing to let go. Honestly, I was probably just as scared to death as she was, but I just squeezed back. I wanted to stay strong for her.

The doctor turned to look at me. He had a nice face. I felt much calmer the instant his eyes connected with mine. He'd be able to help Marissa… "Miss, I need you to step back for a moment, please. It would make it much easier for me to look at this young lady's leg."

Reluctantly, I let go. I had to trust him. He was the only doctor on the block at the moment…

"I'm John, by the way. John Watson," he informed as he loved over Marissa's leg. "And you guys are…?"

Rissa chimed in before I could answer. "I'm Marissa, and this is my girlfriend, Lindsay."

I felt my face heat up. It wasn't that I had a problem with people knowing we were going out, I just wasn't really used to her calling me her girlfriend yet… It was all still so new to me.

Dr. Watson's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Girlfriends, huh? Not that I have a problem with it or anything; my sister's married to a woman."

"Who's that?" Marissa asked, nudging her head in the bored man's direction. "He doesn't look very happy…"

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Oh, that's Sherlock, my… flat-mate. He's just bored because we haven't had a case since last Friday."

Marissa cocked her head, her eyes sparkling with a mix of pain and interest. "A case? What kind of case?"

"I'm a consulting detective," Sherlock said, speaking up for the first time since we saw him.

If I were a dog, I knew my ears would have perked up at "detective". I was immediately by his side, holding my hand out. "Hi, I'm Lindsay Pearce!"

Sherlock ignored my hand. "Yes. You're from America, but more specifically, California. By the looks of your jewelry, you have a career in music. Judging by your loud, projecting voice, you must be a stage performer. Broadway, am I not wrong? Oh, and the redhead over there is your girlfriend; I can tell by the way you look at her."

My jaw dropped. How could he have gotten all of that just by _looking_ at me? This Sherlock obviously didn't have the ordinary human brain.

"Now Sherlock, let's not deduce the poor girl too soon," Dr. Watson scolded, still poking and prodding at Marissa's leg. "We don't want to scare her away."

I shook my head. "No, I think it's amazing! I didn't know it was possible for any human being to be able to do that…"

"Well, Sherlock doesn't exactly have the 'normal' human mind. He doesn't think like we do," Dr. Watson muttered. Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"So, what's wrong with me?" Rissa asked quietly. Her voice sounded fine enough, but her eyes were clouded with pain.

"I'm sorry, but your leg is broken," the doctor said. He stepped away from Marissa. "I'm afraid you'll have to stay off of it for a few days."

She looked like she wanted to cry, but instead, she just sighed. "Well Linds, I guess I'll have to be bed-wridden for a while…" She winced in pain as she tried to change her position.

"Don't movie. It'll just make things more painful. I think I have some crutches or something upstairs…" Dr. Watson turned to me. "Would you mind carrying her up to my apartment? I could help patch her up."

I blushed. "Well, uh… I can't really hold her," I mumbled. Marissa wasn't fat or anything, I just wasn't about to carry someone around my size.

He shrugged. "That fine. Sherlock, could you please carry the girl for me?"

Sherlock nodded and scooped Marissa up bridal style. I suddenly felt very jealous that this very good looking man was carrying _my_ girlfriend. I balled my hands up into fists.

Marissa yelped in pain as she tried to get comfortable in Sherlock's arms. He changed the position he was holding her in, and I suddenly heard Rissa sigh in relief. I looked up at Sherlock, then ahead at Dr. Watson, realizing I had to put all of my trust into these men if I wanted Marissa's leg to heal.

She shot me a nervous look, and I replied with a reassuring smile. She tried to smile back, but it turned into a painful grimace.

As the doctor fumbled with the keys to the apartment, Sherlock turned his head and studied me. I stood as still as I could, afraid of what would happen if I moved. When I looked at his eyes for the first time, I almost gasped. They were a brilliant shade of blue. They weren't as blue as mine, though. Honestly, I'd probably classify them more as a grey.

When I reverted my eyes back to Marissa, I noticed she must have been thinking the same thing. She was staring at Sherlock's eyes with pure wonder. Normally, I would have felt a twinge of jealousy, but under these circumstances, it would just be hypocritical. And I was most definitely _not_ a hypocrite.

"Ah, here we go," Dr. Watson murmured to himself as he pushed open the door to his apartment.

Sherlock set Marissa down tenderly on the couch, trying carefully not to hurt her. I was quite grateful for that.

"It's beautiful here," I muttered, although there were some downfalls. The far wall had bullet holes in it, and there was a smiley face spray painted onto it. It made me wonder what these men did in their free time…

"Thank you very much, Dr. Watson," Marissa whispered as he wrapped her leg in what I assumed was a cast.

He chuckled. "Please, call me John. Everyone else does."

Marissa nodded. "Okay." She turned to me. "Lindsay, please come sit by me," she pleaded, biting her lip. "I… I'm scared…"

She didn't have to ask twice. The minute the words left her mouth, I practically threw myself across the room. As I curled up next to her, Dr. Watson gave her a reassuring smile. "There's no reason to be afraid. Give it a few weeks, and you'll be as good as new."

"I know, I just… I've never broken a bone before. It's a lot scarier than I would have imagined…" She sighed and rested her head on my shoulder. I stroked her hair reassuringly. It was hard seeing her all scared like this.

"Here, drink this," Sherlock said, offering us each a glass of water.

"Thank you," Marissa and I both said at once. I gulped the water down greedily. Damn, I must have been really thirsty without even realizing it.

"Well, I think your cast should be hard by now. After about three weeks, I'd go ask your doctor in America to take it off for you." Dr. Watson grinned and handed Rissa a pair of crutches.

"Oh, thank you very much," she said, hobbling on the crutches. "Thank you so, so much…"

I looked at my watch. "Shoot! Marissa, we're supposed to meet Hannah in twenty minutes!" I turned to Dr. Watson and Sherlock and grinned gratefully. "Thank you. Really. I'll never forget you."

Marissa shook her head. "Me neither. Thank you for everything."

Dr. Watson waved, and Sherlock actually gave us a smile.

As we walked out of the apartment room, a sense of gratitude washed over me. Marissa was okay. Sure, her leg was broken, but she was obviously going to survive. Before we left the building entirely, I looked at the door one more time. 221b Baker Street. I was definitely going to remember that.


End file.
